Switch
by icefire-lioness
Summary: Seventh year, and Hermione and Draco are perfectly happy being nasty to each other. One little problem. The body switch. Ooops! AU: Voldy dead, Dumbles not, trio at school.
1. Chapter 1: Hermione

_AN: Ooh hoo hoo! It's another chaptered Dramione! This is based loosely on 'it's a boy/girl thing' (which is a really funny movie, just so you know) and will steal pretty much the entire plot because I'm lazy. Yay. Not really. Well, basic ideas anyway. I also used some of 'Freaky Friday' for it, so yes. Any quotes that are from either of these I will just immediately say I don't own. K? I'm pretty sure I don't use that many, but if I use a few I can't be bothered saying 'this one is mine...and this one is theirs...and this one is mine...and this one is mine...and this one is mine...no, wait, that's theirs...oh, no. It is mine.' etc. But I will only take them from boy girl and FF. promise. :P Hmm. What else? Um. Review! Yay._

-

I pride myself on two things above all else. One is my intelligence. This isn't conceit, I'm just being honest. The second thing is my ability to control my emotions. Unfortunately this second one has been giving me some trouble lately and mostly it has all been caused by one small problem. Draco Malfoy.

-

"I hate you, I hate you, I hate you." I chant, my eyes closed and my hands over my ears. Immature, I know, but perversely enjoyable. He leans in close to me and I smell his nauseatingly expensive cologne.

"_That's_ because you secretly want to have sex with me." he whispers conspiratorially. All the blood rushes to my face as if drawn by a giant blood-related-magnety-thing.

"Ha!" I exclaim, trying desperately to hide my nervousness at how very close he has come to hitting the mark. To hide my shame, I lean back over to him, pretending he isn't desirable in the least. Which he isn't. At all.

"You know, _Malfoy_, I had always imagined that when I lost the flower of my womanhood, it would be to someone of my _own_ species!"

He smirks, and my cocky grin fades slowly.

"That won't be possible then, will it, muddy? Seeing as there isn't anyone in the same species as you…unless you count pig slime, perhaps."

How dare he say that to me! My eyebrows lower ominously as I lean closer to him.

"Draco Malfoy, you are an uncouth fool! If you weren't such an egomaniac I would suggest that you had no sense of self worth, judging by the effort you have taken to become such a _total_ philistine!"

He glares at me, his hands fisting at his sides.

"I _am not_ an uncouth fool! Nor am I an egomaniac! I'm _perfect_!"

I raise an eyebrow as he proves me correct. Idiot. This doesn't seem to register with him though, as he struggles for words.

"And, and, I don't know what a philistine is, but I'm bloody well not that, either!"

I roll my eyes and turn away.

"You know, Granger, it's not even _my_ fault!"

Oh, the bloody nerve of him! I turn back to him, my hands fisting.

"Not your fault! Malfoy, of _course_ it's your bloody fault! _You_ told the new professor to pair us for the assignment!"

He looks outraged and opens and closes his mouth a few times in an attempt, apparently, at stunning me into defeat with his fantastic goldfish impersonations. He really is good at them.

"I- I did _not_!"

Oh, what a retort. Honestly, he could write them for a living. Help poor idiot boys at rejoinders. I mean, _really_.

"You did too, you idiot. You _said _to him, and I quote; 'professor, maybe Granger should go with someone who can actually tell the difference between a statue and a real person. I don't know…someone with brains? Someone who knows a bit about personal hygiene? Me.' And I end quote. You bloody _idiot_."

He looks suitably remorseful for a full quarter of a second.

"Well, it still isn't my fault. It…you…it's your fault."

I glared at him.

"How the hell is it _my_ fault?"

He splutters ineffectually.

"It just _is_. Honestly, what _is_ it with you? Always with the _reasons_!"

I roll my eyes and turn away again. Idiot.

Then his hand is on my shoulder, and he's dragging me around to face him.

"Stop bloody turning away! It's so _rude_!"

I snort in a very unladylike manner.

"Rude? Malfoy, you wrote the _book_ on rude."

He glowers at me.

"Yeah? Well if I wrote it then you'd still read it. Just because it's a book."

Good call. Not that I would admit it.

"Ha! That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard! It would be physically impossible to read a book written by you because you can't _spell_! Because you're an _idiot_."

"Stop calling me an idiot!" he yells, looking rather deranged.

"I'll call you what I want!" I yell back, and we glare at each other for a long moment, before turning on our collective heels and storming out of the DADA classroom, trying not to touch each other as we squeeze out of the doorway at the same time.

Neither of us notices it, but the small statue at the front of the classroom has begun to glow.

-

I flop down on my bed, irritated and tired, my silky nightie (yes, I know. I like to feel attractive sometimes, and if I can only manage it while I'm in bed then so be it. Don't laugh or I will be forced to kill you.) riding up annoyingly.

I've only been at school for a week and already I wish it was the holidays again. Seventh year is incredibly tiring, and it doesn't help _at all_ that Draco Malfoy has decided to up the ante with his horrible comments. I really hate that jerk. Really, I do. Just because he's _completely_ gorgeous doesn't mean that I can't still hate every fibre of his idiotic being. Not that he's completely gorgeous or anything. It was a…I was just making a point. He isn't gorgeous. Nope, nope, nope. No.

Anyroad, now we were paired up for this stupid assignment (Malfoy's fault) we were going to be spending even more time together. Which was _not_ a good thing. Because I hate him. Because he's a dickhead. And not gorgeous.

The new DADA teacher is quite nice, but he really _doesn't_ understand the little rules of Hogwarts. I.e. _don't pair a Slytherin and a Gryffindor_. Especially if the Slytherin is Draco Malfoy and the Gryffindor is Harry, Ron or Hermione. Yuck.

It's all so horrible. I mean, you would think that it was just common sense, but _no_, Professor Eanes _has_ to go and pair us because of a ridiculous comment that Malfoy made, even if (and I'll admit this, just not to Malfoy) it was painfully obvious that it could only have been a dig at me, rather than a misguided attempt to be paired with me. At least, I _hope_ it wasn't a misguided attempt to be paired with me. I can only deal with so much weirdness in one day, and having to vomit over particular ideas which Malfoy has gotten stuck in my head is not really my idea of pleasantness.

Gods I hate him.

I sniff miserably and struggle under the covers. I've had a horrible cold for the last two weeks, so fighting with Malfoy has been particularly tiresome. I can tell you right now that it is extremely difficult to come up with fantastic insults when your head is filled with snot.

Anyway. The assignment. It's on Dark Wizards over the last few thousand years, which is interesting, of course, but not a subject I particularly want to research with Malfoy. Voldemort may be dead, but I don't want Malfoy getting any big ideas.

Whatever happens though, Malfoy is doing the smallest amount of this assignment as possible. There is no way he is going to ruin my scores. I will not allow it. With this promise to myself, I roll over onto my side and close my eyes.

-

The next morning dawns bright and cold. Much colder than it usually is, in fact. I open my eyes cautiously, and morning sunlight stabs into my eyes. After a few moments my eyes have adjusted and I sit up.

Strange. I don't recognise that cupboard across from me. I look over to my left and my eyes widen. I don't remember there ever having been boys in my dormitory. No, that definitely isn't something I remember. Or all the green. Or the stone walls. No, this isn't my room. I'm rather worried. Have I finally gone insane?

I push back the covers and cautiously get out of bed, hoping not to wake any of the strange sleeping boys up. This is all incredibly weird. I stand still in the middle of the dormitory, looking around me.

A flash of white catches me eye and I turn quickly to see what it was. There it is again! It's…it's…what the hell? It's my _hair_. It's _blonde_.

I reach up and grab a piece of it, staring at the offending hair with growing horror. Why is my hair _blonde_? I look around the room again, trying to see if there are any clues as to what is happening. I'm much too tired for a mystery.

It hits me with no small amount of force that the bed curtains are Slytherin colours. I think I know what has happened. I've been kidnapped. And they dyed my hair blonde. They have no shame. They will all be castrated with spoons. I swear this now, on my teddy bear's life. If he was animate.

One of the boys makes a snuffling noise and turns over. I jump at the sound, and crash into the bed with a loud crunching noise. I think I've broken a rib, but apparently no-one cares.

"Shut _urp_, Draco," mutters the snuffler.

Hm. That's weird.

I wait until he has started snoring again and sneak across the room, wondering if I can get back to the Gryffindor dormitories without anyone noticing. Probably not. I've never been very good at sneaking.

_Crash!_

Case in point. Ow. I have just managed to untangle myself from someone's trunk when a pillow comes hurtling towards me and knocks me out. Well, not technically _out_. But it does hurt. For a pillow. What do Slytherin boys _sleep_ on? Bricks?

I glare at the bed I think it came from, but there isn't any reaction. Apparently boys like sleeping even more than girls. Who would have figured?

After picking myself up and re-attempting the sneaking thing (and nearly falling over again five times. Honestly, boys are so _messy_. Don't they know that the floor is not the appropriate place to keep your entire collection of wizard porn? Not that I would know _where_ an appropriate place to keep that is. Dormitories are hardly places to keep secrets. Not that any of the boys probably care. In fact, it's probably communal porn. Urgh. I did _not_ just think that.) I have managed to get a grand total of three metres. The door is still ages away. About four metres. Honestly. I'm considering just laying down on the floor and going back to sleep but the memory of some of the things I've fallen over is enough to keep me on tiptoes, let alone putting my face on any of that.

I brace myself for more fallings over and stride purposefully towards the door. Well, when I say 'stride purposefully' it's really more an anxious shuffle. But you know what I mean. I am about three steps from the door when something catches my eye. Something is moving beside me, a shadow or something. Probably my shadow. I turn to look and am struck dumb. Alright. Mirror.

You know how vampires don't have reflections? I wish that was the same with humans, because I _really_ hate the sight of myself in the mirror this morning. And no, it's not because I look hideous. I actually look rather good. No, I didn't just say that. Kill me.

Draco Malfoy is staring out at me from the mirror. Well. _I'm_ staring out at me from the mirror, but I'm in Draco Malfoy's body. Which is not an everyday occurrence, I would just like to point out. In fact, it is quite a neveryday occurrence, and I'm rather worried about the fact that it is happening at all.

I would just like to press home the fact that at this point I want to scream. A lot. But there are five Slytherin boys (seventh years. Muscly. Biiiig.) in the room with me, and they are sleeping. And if you don't know what a recently woken by screaming boy who used to be a girl teenage boy is like, then I will tell you right now that you _do not want to know_. They are _hideous_. So they will stay asleep and I will not scream. Or the other way around. Something. Anyway.

So I'm staring at myself (Malfoy) in the mirror, and trying not to scream, and wondering what in the hell is going on. I let out a little squeak, which I think is perfectly acceptable and brave considering the circumstances. Unfortunately my new room mates seem not to think so and I am smacked in the head by a barrage of pillows. One of the boys yells "stop staring at yourself in the mirror you great ponce,"

and I snigger appreciatively before I realise that he's talking about me and not Malfoy. Well, he's talking about Malfoy, but…this is confusing.

Then a very disturbing thought hits me, and without thinking of the consequences for my sanity, I pull out the elastic of my (Malfoy's) boxers and look down in apprehension.

Oh my fuck. I have a _penis_. I have _Draco Malfoy's penis_.


	2. Chapter 2: Draco

_AN: Hee hee, Chapter two! Am I not brilliant? I know. I am. Yay. This is from Draco's POV. REVIEW, MY FRIENDS!_

-

I think you should know, Hermione Granger is a whiney little bitch. I really don't like her. I mean, I know some people say that she's incredibly smart and she looks pretty when she doesn't have five hundred books on her shoulder (she slumps, which is awful. Has she never heard of _posture_?) but I have to disagree. I have never found her attractive. Not once. Not even when she came to the Yule Ball in that fantastic dress, with her hair all lovely and her teeth straightened (my fault, for fuck's sake. Honestly, I'm too nice for my own good.) and that thing she does with her nose when she smiles. Nope. She looked terrible.

Anyway. Even if she _was_ attractive (which she isn't) it wouldn't matter because she would cancel it out with her constant moaning. Honestly, it wasn't _my _fault that we were partnered for the stupid assignment. I was just trying to prove a point, i.e. that I am better than her. I mean _really_. Is it _my_ fault that the new professor is a total idiot and doesn't understand the rules of Hogwarts? I.e. _never pair a Slytherin and a Gryffindor_. Especially if the Slytherin is me and the Gryffindor is Pothead, the Weasel or the Beaver. Honestly.

None of that matters, of course. What matters is that Daphne has gotten it into her head that I care what she wears.

"What about the blue? It brings out my eyes, but then…the white makes me look tanned. Draco? What do you think?"

I sigh and look up from my Transfiguration homework.

"Dee, they both look good on you. But to be quite honest I don't really care. You _know_ Harper'll think you look gorgeous whatever you wear, and I don't want to have to be a part of your little mooning sessions. Please, leave me out of it."

Daphne pouts. "But _Draco_, what if he _doesn't_? And you know what looks good on me. _Please_? Tonight's special!"

I roll my eyes. "Daphne, if you're trying to tell me that you're about to lose it to a younger boy, then I reserve all right to call you Mrs Robinson."

Daphne looks confused. "Who's that?" she asks, and I shake my head.

"She's a character in a famous muggle novel. The Graduate. It's really…"

I glance back at her. She's fiddling with a lock of her hair and obviously not paying me any attention.

"Never mind," I mutter, turning back to my homework.

She notices that, though. "Come on, Draco! Pretty please?"

"Blue," I say, not looking up. Just to get her off my case, you understand. But she does look best in blue.

"Yay!" she squeals, clapping her hands together. She leans down and kisses me on the cheek before leaving the room with her two dresses hugged close to her chest.

I shake my head again, trying to turn my concentration back to homework. Eventually I give up and stack all of my books into a pile, pick them up and walk to my room.

It's late – I'm sure no-one would blame me if I was to go to bed now. I pack my things away and get undressed, throwing my clothes into my trunk as I go. I pull on my boxers and then jump into bed, pulling the covers over me. After that, all that is left to do is to close my eyes and try not to think too much.

-

I'm woken by birds. Not bird song, I would just like to stress, but birds – bird claws tapping on the window and an awful shrieking noise that could only be a disgruntled owl. I _hate_ when people have their owls come to deliver messages in the mornings. To their _dormitories_. It's so incredibly rude. I mean, people are trying to sleep. Owl squawks outside the window do not a good sleep facilitate.

I moan irritably and throw my pillow at the offending window. There is another screech and then someone is whispering "oh, sweetie, shh, shh…it's only a pillow. Come on, don't wake the girls."

Strange. Could have sworn that was a girl's voice. Not to mention none of the boys in my dormitory would ever be caught dead saying 'sweetie', especially to an owl. Not that you could say something if you were dead. Unless you were a ghost. Anyroad. Also, that 'don't wake the _girls_.' I would just like to point out here that to call a roomful of teenage boys 'girls' is probably not terribly intelligent. Especially if you're stupid enough to do it when you have just woken them up with an owl.

Hmm. I open one eye experimentally. Scarlet. Weird. I'm pretty sure we've never had _any_ scarlet in our dormitory. Let alone having all the bed curtains in the offending colour. It really is a terrible hue to wake up to. Nowhere near as soothing as green. And it seems much warmer this morning than it usually is.

At this point I would just like to remind you that I am not a morning person. Maybe that's why it took me so long to realise something was wrong. If for example, I had woken here in the afternoon, I would have been able to jump up straightaway and exclaim in a very Sherlock Holmesey fashion "aha! I 'ave figured eet out! Zee criminal was, in fact…" oh, he wasn't French, though, was he? Inspector Clouseau, then.

Anyway. Not that I would be asleep in the afternoon. I like the day too much for naps, plus I'm not called Great Aunty Beryl. So. I didn't figure it out for a while. Let's just leave it at that.

I open the other eye and glare tiredly at the curtains. It really _is_ strange that they would be scarlet. You know, us being Slytherin and therefore wanting nothing to do with Gryffindor. And then I look to my right. Well, fuck me with a broom handle. It _is_ a girl!

In a tiny little nightie. Very, very nice. I am so not complaining. I don't recognise her, but she's obviously not one of my roommates (much too pretty and nowhere near as much hair) so I'm thinking she is either a roommate's late night fuck or I'm in a girl's dorm. I kind of like the second one better. I've never been able to get into the girl's dorms – they usually come to mine – so it's one thing I can cross of my list. I just hope none of them are screamers.

I get out of bed quietly and stop suddenly. Very strange. My centre of gravity seems to have shifted. I walk forward a step and stop again. Seriously weird. I put my hands up to my chest and then stop. What the hell is _that_?

Alright, first weird thing. I'm wearing a nightie. Silky. Just quickly; I don't make a habit of wearing girl's underthings. Unless you count that month when I had to wear a different lacy thing every day. But that was a dare. Sort of. Well, two weeks of it was a dare. They were _comfortable_. Laugh and I will burn you all with melted wax.

Second weird thing. I have boobs. Two boobs. I mean, I guess that's the regular number of boobs, but for a guy? With my physique? I do not think so. I pull my nightie (shut up) out from my chest and look down. Well, they're _nice_ boobs, at least.

As I'm looking down I feel something fall onto my bare shoulder. Very soft. I look at it. Brown hair. Curly. Sort of frizzy. Hmm.

I think I need a mirror. I walk over to a door on the other side of the room, thinking it's probably the bathroom. Another strange thing I should probably mention – there is nothing on the floor. _Nothing_. I am really not used to that. Usually as I'm walking to the bathroom I can pick up one of my favourite magazines (we all chip in) from the floor for later usage…but there isn't anything. Not a single scrap of paper.

But that isn't the strangest thing. As I go into the bathroom, closing the door behind me, I see the mirror. Oh, that is the freakiest thing I have ever seen. It's Granger. Granger is staring at me. Oh my fuck. I'm _Granger_. And I said she had nice _boobs_!

I stare at myself-Granger for a bit longer, silently freaking out. And then something occurs to me. I pull the nightie up and stare at myself in the mirror.

It's _gone_! My life has ended!

-

Right. Getting dressed, I think. I need breakfast. And to find Granger (how the hell do I do that? what if she's…I don't know…Weasley? How do I know who she _is_? Argh!) and shake her a lot and violently. Now. Clothes.

I go back into the dormitory, and head for the bed which I was lying in before. That would, hopefully, mean that the trunk beneath it is Granger's. Right. Opening. Finding clothes…urgh. This girl really has _no_ taste. I pull out the least disgusting set of clothes and then find the underthings. Oh, this is much too weird. Just think…they're not your hands, so _technically_ you're not rummaging through Granger's silky bits. Alright. Have underwear on. Now for the bra.

I pull out a lacy thing with straps and stare at it. Who would have thought? Granger wears sexy underthings. Anyway, now to get the blasted thing _on_. These things are hard enough to get off.

I struggle with it for about five minutes, quite possibly pulling three muscles in my back, and then give up. Alright ladies, looks like you and me is going au natural.

I pull on the rest of my clothes and then go back to the bathroom. Hair. Goddamn, she really needs to do something about this. There isn't any product, unfortunately, so I settle for pulling it into a rough bun and promising myself that I will go and get something for it as soon as possible. Once I've wrung Granger's neck, of course.

After that horrifying ordeal, I think I'll just have to go and eat a very large breakfast. And drink a lot of coffee. With this in mind, I stroll out of the bathroom, trying to look as though I know what I'm doing. There is a minor mishap when I head into the broom cupboard, accidentally believing it to be the door out, but other than that I'm alright. When I get to the common room, I follow a second year boy out of the door, hoping that it isn't another bathroom and he thinks I've come to molest him.

Thankfully it opens into the corridor, from which I know how to get to the Great Hall. Good. I stride purposefully down the corridor until I reach the entrance to the Great Hall. Taking a deep breath, I enter, trying to look calm. I nearly head to the Slytherin table, out of habit, but am thankfully able to make it look as though I was merely taking a slight detour and I go and sit down at the end of the Gryffindor table. None of the golden trio are here yet (apart from me, lord fuck it), so all is well.

After sitting myself down, there is an awkward moment when I feel that everyone is looking at me. Of course, it turns out that they are actually all waiting for their owls, but it takes me a few minutes to be able to breathe properly again.

Now. Eating. I pile my plate high with pretty much everything I can get my hands on while a pretty sixth year girl looks on, aghast. Thankfully I don't have to worry about making a good impression, because as long as I'm in this disgusting body I can't get any. Then again…

"How can you eat like that and still be so slim?" asks Pretty Sixth Year.

"Honestly, I am so jealous. I have to eat like a quarter of what you've got and I'm still fatter than you," she smiles at me and I think for a second that she's coming onto me, before I remember that we're both girls. Doh.

I shrug; feeling embarrassed, and head back for more.

"Seriously, though. You're really gorgeous. I just don't understand how some girls can eat like that, and, well, it's just unfair is all. Some girls get all the good genes."

She grins again and grabs an apple.

"Oh, come on, don't be like that," I say, grabbing at the apple as I forget, again, that I'm no longer Draco Malfoy, therefore I am not allowed to flirt with girls.

Hey, whatever though. It's not like I care if Granger's reputation is trashed. In fact, I think that's a pretty cool idea.

"You know, you're pretty gorgeous yourself," I say, turning on the full Malfoy charm. Maybe it won't work so well seeing as I'm stuck in bushy haired beaver land, but apparently she doesn't seem to mind.

"Aw, you're a sweetie," she exclaims, grinning. She grabs the apple off me again.

"But I'm not as gorgeous as _you_," she says in a low voice, touching my arm lightly.

My God, she _is_ coming onto me! In Granger's body! This is hilarious!

"Oh, as if!" I exclaim, laughing like she's said the funniest thing in the entire world. Honestly, I am so bloody good it even scares _me_ sometimes.

"Silly, you're beautiful. I mean, your eyes are just…" I let my voice peter out, grabbing for a piece of toast as if I am embarrassed. She blushes and bites into her apple, looking away.

Haha, I am awesome.

I don't look at her for a minute, working on her. Any second now, any second…

"What's your name, anyway? I don't think we've met," she says, and I look at her, grinning. Gets 'em every time. And now I can truly say _every_ time.

"Dr- Hermione. Hermione Granger," I say, tripping a little over the name. Whoops. Haven't said that before. Funny.

"Oh, that's pretty. My name's Laura." She says, her blue eyes glinting a little. Is she laughing at me? Strange one, this Laura.

"I like the name Laura. What's your last name?" I ask, ignoring the possible laughter and buttering my toast.

She grins at me, inexplicably, and grabs a piece of toast. "Ackley." she says, and motions at her toast.

"I know, I'm a pig. Don't laugh at me," she says, still grinning. I spread my hands.

"Who's laughing?"

She smiles and takes a bite of her toast.

"No-one, apparently. Hey, you know how there's a Hogsmeade weekend coming up, well I…"

"Hey Hermione!"

Dammit.

"Save me anything? Jeez, you've eaten _everything_! Didn't start on the tablecloth yet, but that's about it."

Weasley thumps me in a friendly way on the back. I glare at him.

"Don't be so rude," I say, still glaring at him. He looks taken aback at my outburst but sits down next to me anyway.

"Hey, I didn't mean to offend you. You just never…"

"Oh, be quiet," I say grumpily and turn back to Laura. Goddammit. I had a hot girl about to ask me out, and this baboon just ruined it all.

"What were you saying, Laura?" I ask sweetly, and she grins at me.

"Well, I was just saying there's a Hogsmeade weekend coming up, and I was wondering whether you'd like to…"

"Morning Hermione, morning Ron," Potter mumbles, sitting on my other side and reaching for the eggs.

Jesus fucking Christ. What is it with these men? Do they not realise that I am about to have hot lesbian sex? Seriously! I can have _hot lesbian sex_. That is wicked. I've always wondered what sex is like for a girl. But they are _ruining_ it.

"Would you shut up?" I exclaim, glaring at Potter. He stares at me, his fork halfway to his mouth. Ron has one eyebrow raised and seems to be struck silent. Laura is snorting into her breakfast.

"_Thank_you. Laura? I'm really sorry. You were saying?"

She smiles again, tossing her blonde hair over her shoulder.

"Hogsmeade weekend. Would you like to…"

"Hermione Granger, come here _right now_!"

I resist the urge to bash my head against the table, but it is very difficult.

I look at Laura, smiling tightly, and put my hand up.

"Sorry, I have to go. I'll…"

"Hey, no problem," she cuts me off, laughing as she reaches for the milk jug.

"I can see you're a very popular girl. I'll see you around. It was very nice meeting you."

She grins again and I smile back, then without thinking it through too much, lean down and kiss her on the cheek.

"I'd love to go to Hogsmeade with you," I whisper, and she beams.

"Lovely. Wear something pretty!"

I turn around, leaving Pothead and Weasel to stare at me in surprise. I am so brilliant. I just got a date with a hot girl while in the body of a girl _and_ now the two dicks I love to hate think that their best friend is a lesbian. Honestly, sometimes even I worry that my brilliance is too much.

Right, now for that voice.

"Granger! Now!"

Okay, there it is. Who is it? Oh. Me. How pleasant.

My body is standing over at the entrance to the Great Hall, glaring evilly. I'm almost seventy five percent sure that it's Hermione Granger in that body, but she's doing a pretty awesome job at being me, so maybe it isn't. Maybe my mind _split_. Maybe Granger's mind is somewhere completely different, like in Hawaii, and…and…

"What the hell have you done to me, you disgusting ferret?" my body whispers furiously as I come up to it. Nope, pretty sure that's Granger.

"Me? I didn't _do_ anything! Anyway, you're always the one who always _knows_ everything, so…so…it must be _your_ fault."

That's right Draco, tell 'em who's boss.

She/I/it snorts deprecatingly.

Quick aside: in future I am going to call 'my body with Granger in it' 'Granger' and 'her'. Ok? I will remain 'I'. Helpful. Just picture Granger as me. Because she isn't in her body, I am. She's in me and I'm in her (Eurgh. Didn't just say that.) and, and…yeah. Ok. End aside.

"Well I don't know what's happened now, so don't you dare blame me!"

I push her up against the wall. Ow, she's all strong and stuff. Dammit. For a male body…

"Well don't blame me!" I whisper furiously. We glare at each other for a bit, and then Granger goes "fine! I won't! But honestly, what are we going to do?"

I pace away from her, feeling worried.

"I don't know. Maybe it's…I dunno, a twenty four hour thing. Like a head cold."

Granger looks slightly better, and pushes blonde hair out of her face.

"Yeah, maybe. Like Freaky Friday."

"What?" I ask, feeling very confused. She shakes her head.

"Never mind."

I don't.

"Well, what happens then? Should we make rules?" Granger asks, business like again.

Damn I hate it when she gets like that. Put her in a suit and she'd be an incredibly hot business woman. Well, actually, she'd be me in a business suit. And she's not incredibly hot. Slip of the tongue. Or something. Moving on.

"Like what?" I ask, hoping she doesn't say 'no sex with gorgeous sixth year girls'. She doesn't.

"Well, you have to be nice to my friends, for one thing. I'm not having you wrecking any of my friendships."

"Same here, then." I say, and she snorts.

"I didn't know you _had_ any friends, Malfoy."

I laugh sarcastically.

"Truly, your wit is sparkling. What else?"

She looks thoughtful.

"Well, I guess, no deliberate sabotage. That would pretty much cover everything."

I nod. "Sounds good. And if one person sabotages, the other has all right to sabotage."

She nods, looking a bit worried.

"Alright. Now, just…play nice."

I grin at her and turn on my heel.

"Darling, I always play nice."

I don't turn back, but I would bet you all the money in my bank account that she is looking very apprehensive. And so she should be.

-

_AN: Didja like it? Didja laff? Review and I will know! Review and there will not be bitings!_

_icex_


	3. Chapter 3: Hermione

AN: Yesss! Third chapter! I am so incredibly awesome! Ha hahahahahaha. Yay. Hope you enjoy it!

-

"Malfoy, would you care to tell me the answer? Malfoy?"

Oh, oh, that's me, isn't it? Right, what was the question?

"Er…would you care to tell me the question? Sir?"

The Slytherins snigger appreciatively at the comment. Snape shakes his head and sighs, but he doesn't immediately yell "twenty points from Gryffindor!" for disrespect…er, that is. He doesn't take twenty points from _Slytherin_. Because I'm in _Slytherin_. Oh lord. I never even thought of that. Anyway, he isn't angry. That's all I'm trying to say. This is so incredibly confusing.

Snape's eyes glitter a little as he leans over my desk and says slowly, "What are the properties of tormentil and by what name is it more commonly known?"

Honestly. You'd think he'd ask something a little harder. We learned this in fourth year. Oh, no we didn't, actually. I just happened to read the textbook. _What_? It was just _lying_ there, and it isn't as though Fred was _using_ it. I was _bored_.

I lean back in my seat, away from Snape and his scary black eyes. I swear he has a thing for Malfoy. I mean, who would lean that close if they didn't? And he's _always_ picking Malfoy out to answer questions so that he looks good. The bastard.

"It is more commonly known as bloodroot and can be used in some kinds of love potions. It is also used in protective tonics and in some types of blightmixtures. The most well-known potion which it is involved in is Veneratio."

Snape gives me a long, hard look and then sweeps up to the front of the classroom. Crabbe and Goyle are staring vacantly at a small spider which is hanging in the corner of the room where we sit. I think briefly of Ron and hope that he hasn't seen it yet. It doesn't take size to scare Ron out of his wits. Poor thing. Ron, that is, not the spider. Although the spider really shouldn't have to go through so much contemptuousness. I mean to say, it's just a tiny spider, and it isn't going to hurt anyone. Why should he be singled…

"Mr. Malfoy, I would appreciate it if you listened to me in my class. Did you hear my question?"

No, I did not.

"Erm, yes?"

Snape eyes me and I break under the pressure.

"No sir, sorry sir, I didn't hear it. Sir."

What? I don't want him to get mad at me. He's frightening when he's mad. And he has a thing for being called sir. I don't know what it is, maybe a badly repressed schoolboy fantasy.

Snape sighs again, brushing hair out of his eyes. He puts both hands on my desk and leans in until we were eye to eye. I _told_ you he had a thing for Malfoy.

"Malfoy, if you do not lift your game, I will be forced to give you a detention. Now _pay attention_."

Alright. So maybe it's a sort of…vicious love. Maybe Snape's into the whole beatings thing. Actually, I think I'm going to stop this line of thinking before I cause myself permanent mental damage.

Snape is striding up and down the classroom, his robes flying dramatically. His footsteps echo severely on the stone floor, and then he has turned back to me. Goodness. Maybe he just likes _picking_ on Malfoy. I never thought of it that way.

"Mr. Malfoy," Snape says silkily, his fingers steepling. I look straight back at him, trying not to seem unnerved.

"Tell me, what does Veneratio do?"

My turn to sigh. Honestly, how thick does he think this class _is_?

"It's a potion to command respect. Because tormentil is known for its respect giving properties, among others, it is one of the main ingredients in Veneratio. It takes a long time to make, though, and because tormentil is so rare, it is very expensive to buy. It also has to be taken fresh, or the magic begins to play up. At best it could give a slight increase in respect from friends who already respect you, and at worst," I shrugged, leaning back in my chair.

"At worst, you could become the most hated, disrespected person in town. This has only happened once, though, because generally people aren't stupid enough to use it when it has become old. Of course, there have been a few cases of wizards without any morals who sell old potions as fresh. But mostly these have been able to be stamped out."

I look up at Snape, who is staring rather unnervingly at me. I desperately hope he isn't able to perform Leglimancy. It would be incredibly awful if he was to find Hermione Granger's mind floating around in Draco Malfoy's head. Surely _that_ would not be considered right on any level. We stare each other off for a minute, while the class around us stays quiet. Eventually Snape seems to think better of a staring competition (two of my best friends are male. I'm obviously going to be good at those.) and turns to the front of the class again. I let out a small sigh of relief and sag into my chair.

And it is about this moment that I notice someone is staring at me. Oh, no, wait. Not staring. _Glaring_. Malfoy. Damn.

I turn slightly in my seat so that I can look over to Malfoy without drawing any attention my way. He's sitting next to Harry and Ron, his (my) skirt riding up over his woollen stockings. Oh, my legs look nice today. That's good.

Right, glaring. His eyes are narrowed, little hazel slits burning into the back of my blonde head. What is his _problem_? I glare back and mouth 'what?'

Obviously his brain capacity does not extend past grunts and the occasional slur, as he just looks confused. I mean, really. 'What' is the easiest word to see mouthed. It basically says itself. The idiot.

I turn back to the front, only to be hit in the head a moment later by a crumpled up piece of paper. I turn around and glare menacingly at him, and he makes a face at me. Harry, Ron and pretty much the entire class are oblivious to our little exchange. I unfold the note roughly, smoothing it out on my desk so that I can read his scratchy writing. Well, flowing writing. It looks like calligraphy. The _bastard_.

_What in the hell do you think you're doing, you bint? Stop making me look like a loser! Stop making me look like _you_!_

I scrunch up the note again, take out my wand and set the note on fire. That utter dick. Snape sees my fantastic beginnings in the field of arson and merely looks away, striding up and down the classroom. I smirk at Malfoy, whose eyes have narrowed even further. At this point I would usually make a scathing remark about how he looked like he had conjunctivitis or something, but seeing as those are _my_ eyes…well. It wouldn't really make sense.

The rest of the class is spent ignoring Malfoy and keeping my eyes and ears trained on Snape. I don't care if they're Slytherin points; there is _no way_ I'm going to lose them. Malfoy might see it as 'deliberate sabotage' and then who knows what he'd do. I truly don't want to think about it.

At the end of class, I'm walking out a bit later than everyone else (I still can't get my head around Slytherins wanting to hang around with me. It's insane.) and someone grabs me by the elbow and pulls me into a corner. I let out a yelp of pain and turn to see Pansy Parkinson glaring at me.

"What?" I ask, rubbing my arm. She narrows her eyes at me. Seriously, is that just what Slytherins _do_? Narrow their eyes at things? I bet they all sit in the common room glaring at inanimate objects and working on their death stares. Must be boring, being a Slytherin. No life and all that jazz.

"Why was the mudblood sending you notes, Draco?" Pansy asks, crossing her arms. Hm. What to say? Something interesting and rumour-starting, I think.

"We were organising a place to meet tonight. She and I have been shagging like rabbits since the start of term."

Pansy's jaw drops as I look at her, my face completely composed.

"You _what_?" she shrieks, her hands dropping to her sides. I look at her for a moment and then say calmly, "Granger and I. We've been shagging. Since the start of term. Like rabbits. She's incredibly hot. Is it my fault?"

Pansy is speechless for a full thirty seconds. Truly, I think it's her best state. Or, well, I suppose comatose would be nicer.

"_Yes it's your fault, Draco Malfoy_!" she screams. What a shame. I had so liked her when she wasn't talking.

"Oh, calm down Par- Pansy. I'm just riling you. I've never even touched Granger. Thank god. That would be too disgusting. Imagine! _Draco Malfoy_! Touching Hermione Granger! It doesn't bear thinking about."

I shudder theatrically, thinking I've done quite a good job. I mean, all I needed to do was think about Malfoy touching me and all the revoltingness of the situation made itself quite clear. And it _was_ revolting to think about it. Malfoy putting his pale hands all over my body, his grey eyes lowering as he slides himself down…

"Then why do you have that dreamy look on your face, Draco Malfoy? I will _kill_ you!"

I flush a little and turn away to hide it.

"Oh hush, woman. I do not look dreamy. Go and screech at someone else, would you?"

Pansy lets out a dramatic scream, throws her hands up in the air and flounces away down the corridor. I watch her leave, grinning a little. That was fun.

-

Oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit.

Just thought I'd get that out. I need to _pee_. You know how no-one ever talks about going to the loo in books, or movies or whatever? Yeah? Well right now is a scene which a movie would _die_ for. Ok. Let's take a look at this situation.

One: I need to go to the loo. Desperately.

Two: I have not done so since I became Malfoy.

Three: I have to _touch it_.

What am I meant to do? There is _no way in hell_ that I am touching Draco Malfoy's penis. No way in _hell_. But I am _busting_.

Alright Hermione, deep breath. You can do this. You are a strong, capable woman, with an IQ of…well, something. You are smart, confident, _brave_. You can't let something so small freak you out! (Haha. I just got that.) You're a Gryffindor! Be the lioness we all know you are! Be a woman! With a…penis. Dammit. Pep talks never work.

Hoo-kay. Just…grit your teeth. Think of England, girls. Do not think about what your hand is currently touching. That would be much too gross and you will never be able to sleep again.

Oh…alright. We are done. Not too much damage to the old grey matter. Just have to never eat finger food ever again. That's all. Or think about anything remotely penis related. Or ever have sex. I'll just be mentally scarred for life, now. All is well.

-

Alright. Today was incredibly great and all, but I think I'm going to go to bed early in hopes of not having to do anything else boy related. If Malfoy was right (and by God he had better be or I reserve all right to cut his balls off) then tomorrow I'll be in my body again, and Malfoy will be in his. Uh huh. I totally believe that that will be so. I mean, why would it happen for more than a day?

Why would it happen at all?

Fuck. Malfoy had better be right for once. Not much chance of that. He's always wrong, the idiot. Gods I hate him. Gods I hate his body.

I fall asleep with images of a charred Malfoy dancing through my head, a blowtorch in one of my dream hands. A small smile finds itself on my lips, and stays there for the remainder of the night. Wish I could do that in real life.

-

AN: well, darlings! What did you think? Worth reading!? Better have been! I had a bit of writers block, but I should be alright for the next chapter - that one should be up soon, too. :D

REVIEW!

icex


	4. Chapter 4: Draco

AN: Just thought I'd mention quickly, a Whitlam&Four is my version of Mills&Boon, ok? Just thought you should know. Oh, and I guess...there is femmeslash near the end. In a manner of speaking. Because, you know. It's Draco. So confusing. :D

-

Damn. I just realised that if this _is_ only a day thing…the date with Laura just ain't happening. Fuckity fuck fuck fuck. I was really looking forward to that. Well, only one thing for it, I suppose. I'm just going to have to do a very quick romancing of young Laura and hope that she's the type of girl to give it up quickly. Lesbians do that, right?

"Hey, Po- Harry…Harry!" I yell, waving my hand to get the great lump's attention.

He comes over to me, scratching his nose. And he takes his sweet time about it, too. Honestly, what is it with famous people? Do they just think that politeness does not apply to them? I mean _really_. You would think that he would have the decency to be polite to his best friend and hurry his lazy arse up when I am obviously _dying_ for information. Stupid messy haired pillock.

"Yeah, Hermione? What is it?" he asks me, when he has _finally_ reached me. I know his legs are short and stubby, but come on. Five minutes to cross five metres of library floor? Appropriate, I think not.

"You know that girl who I was talking to at breakfast this morning? Laura?"

Potter grins a little awkwardly. Oh god, _he _doesn't have a stupid little crush on her, does he? Anyway, he doesn't have a chance. Not with me, sweet talking extraordinaire, gorgeous as all hell Draco Malfoy, around. And, you know. Her being a lesbian and all. Unless she's bi? I glare surreptitiously at him. Not an easy task when one is looking straight at the person and they are looking right back. But he's dafter than a piece of sticky tape, so I'm pretty sure I'm safe.

"Laura Ackley? Sixth year? Blonde hair?" asks tall, dark and dumb-as-shit.

I roll my eyes despite myself. It's difficult not to when you are around boy wonder. He's so _idiotic_.

"Yes, her. D'you know if she has a class at the moment?"

Potter grins condescendingly. I hate him. I hate him and all of his offspring that he will, unfortunately, one day spawn. I wish he would go die in a very large and painful hole. With spikes.

"It's lunchtime, Hermione." Potter says, his eyes practically grinning along with the rest of him.

I knew that.

"I know, _Harry_." I say scathingly, trying to think of a reason for asking that without coming off dumber than Potter. Not that that should be too difficult. I could just say something about teacups and I'd still be guaranteed three times smarter a comment than Potter would have made in the same situation.

"I just meant, is she being tutored?" I say brilliantly. I am brilliant. Because I am me. Therefore I am brilliant.

Potter looks confused. I'll bet he's never even heard of tutoring. He needs it, of course. Maybe a few extra thousand years of tutoring sessions might make him at about the intelligence level of a well trained quill. It could happen. Miracles sometimes occur.

"Isn't she a Ravenclaw?" Potter asks, raking a hand through his hair.

"Of course she bloody well isn't!" I exclaim, wanting to tear his hair out. I'm wasting precious lech-ing seconds!

"Why do you say that?" asks Potter, seemingly unperturbed by the fact that I'm glaring fit to burst.

"Because," I say in a slow voice, as if I'm speaking to a child (which I am, practically), "she was sitting at the Gryffindor table. I.e. she is in _Gryffindor_."

_You revolting, gormless man-whore_. I add mentally.

"That doesn't necessarily make her a Gryffindor," Potter points out in his nauseatingly reasonable voice. If I stabbed him to death, would anyone notice? I could just say he'd fallen onto his own knife in the bathroom and people would believe me. Even if there were thirty stab wounds. That his reputation of being the dumbest thing since sliced white bread could even explain _that _away as an accident on his part is, I think, quite telling.

"And why not, pray tell?" I ask, feeling a strange urge to wring something. Preferably Potter's neck.

"Because there are always table swaps in the morning, Hermione. You should know that. The only people who don't swap are the Slytherins." He sits down heavily in a chair opposite me, apparently overcome by the effort of stringing together three sentences at the same time.

"Just, just…"

I myself, I would like to point out, am overcome by annoyance at this prat before me. I take a deep breath and centre myself.

"Just tell me. Do you know where she is?" I ask him calmly. He shrugs, not really looking at me.

"Dunno. Could be anywhere, couldn't she? Ask one of her friends, maybe. They're over at the door."

And with this last, very _unhelpful_ comment I would just like to point out, I give him one last glare and stalk off to the doorway of the library.

Three girls are leaning against the doorframe, all long legs and flicking hair. I try not to drool as one of the girls (dark hair, short skirt, legs like a baby giraffe, arse like a fucking peach) leans over and picks up a fallen book.

"Can we help you?" one of the other girls asks, seeing me standing there like an utter tool. I walk over, smiling genially.

"Hi!" I start (genius, Draco, genius), shifting my books to the other arm. They watch me politely, the dark haired girl now upright and smiling at me. Maybe I could take her instead. No, bad Draco, bad. We want Laura, first. Then you may try as much as you like with the Girl Who Has a Nice Arse.

"You're friends with Laura Ackley, aren't you?" I ask, and the girls relax a little.

"Yeah, we are. Oh! Sorry, how rude. I'm Grace," says one of the blonde girls, introducing herself. I smile, pushing curly hair out of my eyes.

"Nice to meet you. I'm Hermione."

"Danni," says the Girl Who Has a Nice Arse. She grins at me, and then winks. Hm. Might be in there, too. Lovely.

"Hey," says one of the quieter girls, a small blonde with a rather nice rack. "I'm Quin. Nice to meet you."

"So, what's up?" asks Danni, her eyes glinting a little as she leans onto the doorframe.

"Oh, I just needed to speak to Laura about something," I say, hoping they don't see through my rather lame excuse. Grace smirks.

"Is that what you young things are calling it these days?" she says cheekily, and Danni laughs. Quin smiles faintly. I flush. Honestly, since when did little sixth year girls make me so stuttery and…un-_Draco_?

"Heh. Yeah. Erm. So, do you know where she is?"

Grace grins at me and points vaguely over her shoulder.

"I think she went back to the common room, actually," she says apologetically.

"So…what house are you in?" I ask, still unsure as to whether or not I should take Potter's word as gospel. I.e. I wouldn't trust him with my mangiest sock.

"Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Ravenclaw," Danni says, pointing at herself, then at the other two girls. "Respectively," she adds, grinning impishly. I find myself smiling back.

"Right. So that would make Laura…?"

Danni puts a hand to her heart dramatically. "And here was I thinking you were interested only in becoming our friends. I feel so _used_!"

She breaks off into giggles and then looks back up at me. What a cutie.

"Oh well. I suppose we'll just have to let you go. She's in Gryffindor. Same as me."

"And me," I add, giving her the full Malfoy grin. She nearly swoons. Alright, she doesn't, but she winks at me again.

"Might see you around again, then!"

"Might do," I say, waving at the girls as I walk out. That went rather well. Rather well indeed. Now to find our young and nubile Laura and hope she gives it up quickly. Heh.

-

"Gallimaufry," I say as I reach the portrait. The fat lady ignores me and chatters on to some wrinkled old tart in the picture beside her. I tap my foot and glare at her.

"Gallimaufry," I say again, louder this time. They are _purposefully_ ignoring me! Those…those…_paintings_!

"Ex_cuse _me!" I yell, waving a hand in the fat one's painted face. She turns to me, finally, glaring.

"Well I never, Violet," she says sniffily. "How rude."

"Oh, yes. And you aren't rude at all, not doing your bloody job!" I exclaim, my hands on my hips. I think Granger's body has taken over with several gestures such as this one.

Portraits! Talking back! How dare they! Don't they know who I am? Well…ok, so they might not know who I am. But honestly. How much rudeness am I meant to deal with in one day? It is beyond me.

Big, pink and sniffy makes a horrified noise at my curse. The wrinkly thing just curls her lip up in distaste. Yeah, yeah, so I'm in Granger's body. I know it's disgusting to look at. But _I'm_ in here too, so for god's sake, give me some respect!

"Gallimaufry," I repeat, glaring them into submission. Do as I tell you! Do as I tell you! Do as I…

Oh, good. They've opened the portrait for me.

"Aren't you going to say thank you?" the fat one asks as I clamber in. I snort becomingly.

"Thank you for what? Interrupting a good lech?" I yell over my shoulder. The portrait closes with a thud.

Oops. May have said that thing about a lech a little too loud. Some Gryffindor chick who I'm pretty sure I should know is staring at me, an eyebrow raised.

"What?" I ask, acting as if nothing is out of the ordinary. Which it isn't. You know, apart from the fact that I'm in a Gryffindor room attempting to get with a Gryffindor sixth year girl while in the body of a Gryffindor seventh year girl who, let's not forget, is one of my worst enemies and scum of the earth. So, nothing weird there at all.

The brunette shrugs and turns back to snogging someone on the couch (I think it's the Weasel, which is quite revolting. Who would want to snog that?) while I look around for Laura.

"Hey! Hermione?"

I look over at one of the desks in the corner of the common room. Ah, it's Laura. My lucky day. Well, actually it isn't. It has been rather a horrid and frightening day. But anyway. I walk over and slide into a chair opposite her.

"Hey, Laura! Didn't forget me, did you?"

She smiles, one of her cheeks dimpling a little, and looks down at her homework.

"Having fun with your homework?" I ask teasingly. She looks up at me again and laughs.

"Oh yes, it's incredibly fun. I don't know why I've been putting it off for so long."

I smile and lean back in my chair, my hands cradling the back of my head.

"Yeah, I'm sure it must be thrilling. My standpoint on homework is 'if you can be not doing it, then don't do it.' I think it works wonders. Not for my grades, of course, but quite well for my extra curricular activities."

I wink indecently at her and she giggles.

"But you're always studying! Every time I see you, you're writing furiously, biting your lip, that little wrinkle in your nose…" she coughs self-consciously and I grin.

"Ah, but who says I'm studying? It is entirely possible that I'm actually writing incredibly lewd and smutty works of fiction, and the little wrinkle in my nose," I wink at her again and she blushes, then grins, "is really just me trying not to make a scene as I get all hot and bothered by what I'm writing. And we all know what biting your lip means," I say very seriously, putting on a very scholarly tone and looking at her over imaginary spectacles.

"It's a sign of a very passionate person. It's true. I read it in a Whitlam&Four once."

She giggles again and then looks at me, her eyes shining.

"Do you really write that kind of stuff?" she asks, leaning forward a little in her seat.

I put on a face that shows I am thinking quite deeply.

"I _might_. But I think I'll definitely need some more experience in certain things to write the one I'm thinking of now."

She makes a small sound in the bottom of her throat and then looks at me closely, excitement shining in her face.

"What are you thinking of writing?" she asks breathily, her fingers tracing the wood of the desk between us subconsciously. It's all very arousing. I grin at her.

"Well, I was thinking of writing a story about two girls who have just met each other," I smile at her, and she breathes a little faster – I can see it, she's almost panting. It's fantastic.

"And they're talking together and they realise that maybe what they want isn't a friendship. Maybe what they want is something else entirely. And because they're somewhere very public it doesn't seem like the right place…"

"Would you like to come up to my room?" Laura interrupts me, her cheeks flushed a little. A strand of hair falls into her face and she blows it out of her eyes. I feel like punching the air and singing some kind of victory song along the lines of 'I'm going to have hot lesbian sex, I'm going to have hot lesbian sex, and you aren't, nah, nah, nah, nah!' but I am much too mature to do that (and also it would bring the mood down a little) so I merely smile and let her take my hand.

-

And you can just imagine the rest of it for yourselves, you dirty minded people. Oh, no, wait, you can't! Because I'm going to tell you exactly what happened! Because it was _hot as_!

-

When we reach her dormitory, it is with great relief. If I had been in my body at that moment and not Granger's, well, let me tell you, I don't know if I could have been able to last that long. Not that I would be even having the experience. But still.

Laura closes the door behind her, looking up at me from under dark lashes. She grabs the front of my school shirt, pulling me down to a bed near the end of the dormitory, her eyes on mine the whole time. And then she is unbuttoning the soft cotton shirt, pushing the edges of fabric away from each other and breathing in, her blue eyes wide. I remember that I hadn't worn a bra today, and silently thank heaven for it.

I just stare at her, my breath catching in my throat. You can't possibly imagine how different it is, to be a girl with a girl. A boy with a girl is so _very_ different, and it isn't just a physical difference. I know that my mind is still mine, but something…untamed comes out. It's just a bodily reaction, but your mind reacts so differently to it. And now I'm experiencing it for the first time, and by hell is it nice.

Laura unknots my tie, pulling it off in one sleek movement, and letting it fall to the floor. Then she pulls my shirt fully off and her hands are running over my stomach, and somehow – she manages to remove clothing as though she were a highly skilled pickpocket – my skirt is gone as well. I am left standing in Granger's silky underwear, which, I realise, are slightly wet. Funny that I should experience that.

Her hand cups my breast, and I moan lightly, pulling her into my chest and kissing her gently. Laura bites my lip and then licks the slowly swelling edge. I pulse my tongue into her mouth and she giggles a little into my mouth.

Then I have pulled her shirt from her shoulders, and I just look at her. She is all bronze and silk with the sunlight coming through the window, and I unclip her bra carefully. She smiles up at me through a curtain of blonde hair, her blue eyes flashing as she pulls me into another kiss. Our breasts rub together and I feel a heat rise between my legs. Laura pushes me onto the bed, climbing over me, laughing and smiling, and I pull her down, my hands on her shoulders as we kiss. Her legs straddle my waist, and, still kissing me, she lets her fingers wander down slowly to the waistband of my underwear.

"Yeah?" she asks, breaking away to look at me. I can't speak, but I nod. She grins again, and her fingers push the silk away from my skin. I arch up into her cupped hand, and she kisses me again, her other hand working at my raised nipple. Just as her fingers brush against me, a slamming door makes us fall apart, pulling the sheets up to our necks.

We both look at the door, twin rabbits stuck in the headlights. And then Danni is wandering into the room, an apple in her hand, humming tunelessly. She halts as she sees us, our hair mussed, our cheeks flushed, and our lips stained and swollen. Not to mention the clothes strewn all over the otherwise spotless floor (what is it with women and cleanliness?) and the fact that we are both quite obviously naked. There is no way in hell that she will not guess what has happened.

"Oh," says Danni, and she backs away, her hand reaching blindly for the doorknob, her eyes not leaving us. I bite my lip, a nervous laugh trying to escape. Well, I can definitely say I've never been in this situation before.

"Louis was…uh, looking for you," Danni says, and Laura seems to be able to speak again.

"Um, we were just-"

Danni shakes her head, turning away and opening the door.

"Yeah, I think I'm perfectly aware of what you were 'just'."

As soon as the door closes, Laura and I turn to each other, mirror images of horror on our faces. And then we are holding each other again, laughing so hard it hurts. I will not ever do this again, but it was _definitely_ an experience.

-

AN: Heehhe. And for all of those smutlovers out there who are DISTRESSED by Danni interrupting, I just think I should tell you that I couldn't qute stand to do it. After all, this is a Dramione fic first and foremost, and we can't have young Laura taking Draco's attention COMPLETELY away. But I did think that we had to have at least one scene where one or the other tries sex. Because really, if you're in the opposite sex's body, surely that would be an experience you'd need to try? Right? Just me? Ok. :D

Please review!

icex


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